


kiss me baby home

by uwuxuxi



Category: ATEEZ (Band), NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Deity Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Fictional Religion & Theology, Human Park Seonghwa, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Paganism, Rituals, Sacrifice, Secret Crush, Surprise Ending, this is so self indulgent i don't know what to tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 17:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uwuxuxi/pseuds/uwuxuxi
Summary: There is no rain and the village swallows their horror and whispers spread that the gods might be angry. A sacrifice is needed.
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	kiss me baby home

**Author's Note:**

> ....HEYYYYY! this is easily one of the most self-indulgent things that has ever left the tips of my fingers. i just. i don't know what to tell you. there is graphic descriptions of seonghwa's sacrifice, hence the graphic depictions of violence tag, but i promise things turn out okay for him.
> 
> mostly.
> 
> please let me know if you need me to tag anything else, i am happy to do so.
> 
> title taken from hummed low by odessa
> 
> unbeta'd

The time for the first rain of the season comes.

And it goes.

There is no rain and the village swallows their horror and whispers spread that the gods might be angry. A sacrifice is needed.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath as the whispers grow louder and desperation starts to mount. He is getting lingering looks and whenever he passes the whispers quiet; they do it to all of the singers in the village but he is uneasy. The priests sequester themselves in the temple and his mother begs him to stop going outside and to please, _please_ , my darling boy, _don’t_ _sing_.

Another week passes without rain. Seonghwa does as his mother asks and does not leave the house. He does not sing, does not so much as hum, or tap his fingers against his thigh with the thought of a song.

Another week passes without rain and the desperation rises even more. Seonghwa is locked in his room, the shutters are closed, and his mother isn’t asking anymore: he is ordered not to sing.

Her fear is understandable, Seonghwa thinks but is also terribly selfish. The village needs the rain and if he must go to bring it, he is willing to do so. 

The first singer is taken from the market and dragged to the nearby forest. He does not kick and scream and Seonghwa watches him from the window, chin held high in the air despite the tears on his cheeks. He is afraid of his fate but he is facing it bravely. 

Seonghwa admires him.

The rain does not come the next day. Seonghwa knows his mother’s fear is mounting and he does not know how to console her. 

“He wasn’t the best singer,” a woman whispers as she passes their house. Seonghwa sees her stop and look towards his window before continuing on her way with her daughter. “The god will only be appeased with the best singer.” It is a cruel observation but Seonghwa does not agree with her gaze towards his window.

Seonghwa pulls his curtains shut and does not tell his mother what he heard. Her fear does not need to be anymore heightened than it already is. 

Another boy is taken, this time from his home, and he fights. He screams, he wails, and he knocks one of the priests dragging him to the forest clean on his back. He will not go. His voice is clear and beautiful and he will not die if he can help it. Donghyuck has always been a fighter and Seonghwa never expected him to go easily

No one should have, really. Seonghwa does not blame him for being selfish with his life, either.

Seonghwa is surprised when they leave Donghyuck alone for the night. He comes downstairs to make himself tea, and instead of Donghyuck, a pretty girl follows the priests into the forest. Minjeong is so brave to defend Donghyuck and offer her own clear voice for the village. Seonghwa lights a candle for her spirit and prays that her sacrifice works. 

The next day the sky is dark but no rain comes. Their god is almost appeased but not quite. Not enough to bring them rain and Seonghwa knows his time is limited. He doesn’t believe he is the best singer—he does think that honor belongs to Donghyuck—but he is talented and vocal talent is dangerous in times like this. 

Seonghwa sits in his living room, watching his mother knit, and knows before the knock at their door that it’s coming. They have come for him. 

“Don’t answer,” his mother hisses but Seonghwa knows that it’s over. He knows that it is time to go and while he might be afraid, he is equally resigned to his fate. “Seonghwa, please, don’t answer! They don’t need to take you!”

But they do.

He is already up, crossing the floor and opening the door before his mother can jump up to stop him. The priests look sympathetic and Seonghwa’s tears flow freely as he bows his head to them. 

“Seonghwa!” his mother sobs and Seonghwa can’t turn to look at her. He won’t be able to leave. 

“I love you, mom,” he says softly and follows the priests to the forest as she screams for him. He sees Donghyuck, watching with wide eyes and Seonghwa hopes he will be enough. 

Donghyuck’s safety and the village depend on his heart being enough to appease their god.

Despite being with the priests, the walk to the forest is a lonely one. The path is well walked and Seonghwa tries not to think about how many of the village’s singers have been sacrificed down it for the good of the people. The birds in the trees are quiet and there is hardly a rustle amongst the bushes. The forest is holding its breath and hoping, quietly, that Seonghwa is enough to save them. 

He hopes it is.

Seonghwa stumbles and one of the priests gently takes his arm to steady him. He’s young and Seonghwa knows him well; he’s spent hours laying with San in the garden on his off time. San does not want this. Seonghwa does not pity him but he knows that San pities him and does not want this fate for him. He wants Seonghwa _safe_ and comfortable back in the village, not marching towards his death.

Love for a priest is hard. 

San offers his hand in quiet support and Seonghwa takes it with no hesitation. He is grateful that the boy he loves will be with him in his last moments, no matter how much it may hurt them both.

The clearing that holds the altar is spartan, undecorated except for the great stone platform and the holy tree it surrounds. He swallows when he sees the little channel that winds down to a wide bowl. It seems impractical but he also does not know how he is about to die. He’s not sure he wants to know but he wonders anyway.

Will it be painful? Will it be quick?

Will it work?

San leads him up to the platform and Seonghwa steps on it, shuddering at the cool stone against the balls of his feet. San squeezes his hand tightly and Seonghwa clasps it in both of his. His tears are flowing again and San hurried to wipe them away with a soothing coo.

“I wish there was another way,” San whispers and Seonghwa squeezes his hand one last time. 

“So do I.” He wishes that he could kiss him one last time but San is already losing him, he doesn’t need to lose his position as a priest, too.

“Would you like to know?” one of the priests asks and Seonghwa admires their willingness to be kind to him. They know his terror and are trying to soothe him the best they can. “It is your right.”

Seonghwa shakes his head and lets a priest wrap his wrists in soft silk before his hands are guided above his head and secured to the great tree behind him. His shirt is cut from him and he takes a deep breath in as the cool night air dances over his chest. His nipples harden and he tucks his face into his harm to hide his face and the flush rising onto his cheeks. He’s exposed to everyone around him and he looks at the obsidian knife in the high priest’s hand when he hears it dragging out of its sheath. 

It is beautiful and sharp and Seonghwa hopes that when it pierces his chest that it will kill him quickly. 

A crystal goblet is pressed to his lips and he swallows down the cool mint tea as San tips it into his mouth. It soothes his throat and clears his head. He can’t feel the rope around his wrists or the slowly warming stone beneath his feet.

His time is coming. 

“Sing for us, Park Seonghwa.”

He doesn't ask why. He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and sings with his whole heart, tears still pouring down his cheeks as he turns his face up to the heavens. He sings the worship song of his people that he learned as a child, and blinks his tears away from his heavy lashes when thunder sounds overhead.

He’s been accepted.

Seonghwa sings louder, his back arching up from the tree. Lightning strikes and singes the ground and relief floods Seonghwa like a surging river. 

He doesn’t feel the blade sink into his chest and crack his sternum before ripping down his torso to stop at his belly. He thinks San is crying as he lifts the stone bowl up to catch his blood but Seonghwa keeps singing as his ribs are opened. His mouth only falls shut when his heart is taken from his chest and set in the bowl of his blood but his song dances around the clearing in a haunting echo as a blessing from the god watching them from above.

Seonghwa dies to the sound of the priests crying out with relief and San’s quiet sobs, the young priest’s hand cradling his cheek. Seonghwa feels nothing but he steps from his body and envelopes San in a hug, cheek resting against his head for a moment. He can feel the younger boy gasp and nearly drop the bowl in surprise and wishes that they had more time. 

As Seonghwa’s song fades from the clearing, a man steps out from the tree line and rain finally pours from the sky. His dark hair falls into his eyes but they are kind and warm and Seonghwa knows his name as well as he knows his own. 

The Lord of Storm and Rain. The Prince of Song. 

Lord Doyoung has come to take him home.

“You’re frightened,” he says with a voice softer than the dampening grass underneath his feet. “Death is scary but unfortunately necessary.”

Seonghwa nods quietly and shudders as his heart is pierced before being set aflame in the bowl in San’s hands. It’s cruel that they make him hold it but how would they know about the love long hidden in his heart? “Where will I go?”

“With me, for a short time. Unless you wish to pass to the Underworld quickly. You need not be frightened of offending me, Park Seonghwa. You have made a great sacrifice willingly and for that, you deserve a reward.”

A reward for death—no. That’s not right at all.

Seonghwa has served Doyoung his whole life, offering song and dance with milk and honey. At the young age of eighteen, he swore the same oath as every boy in their village: should their Lord of Storm and Rain need their heart, they would give it. If the Prince of Song wanted a voice, it would be lifted to the heavens for him.

He might have been one of the only ones who meant it.

Doyoung smiles at him and Seonghwa is charmed by the way his teeth sparkle and his lips pull back to show his gums. It is disorienting to be able to make perfect eye contact with a god but Doyoung looks so _kind_ and when he offers his hand; Seonghwa does not hesitate to rest his own hand in his palm.

Doyoung looks past him to San, whose tears have not stopped, and his smile shrinks just a little. “You had a love?”

“Almost,” he admits and allows himself to look back one more time. “May I make a request?” Doyoung nods. “When my time with you is over, may I return to him in some way?”

Doyoung smiles again, sadness in his eyes. “I will do what I can.”

“Then where you go, I will follow.”

Thunder booms once more and when Seonghwa opens his eyes again they are away from the clearing and in a warmly lit atrium. Rain beats against the glass and he steps into Doyoung’s arms with a careful shudder. He knows he should not be afraid but he needs warmth, comfort, and for the numb, almost pain of his death to be washed away from his body. 

The hold Doyoung has on him is gentle and as a hand strokes through his hair, Seonghwa finds himself relaxing against his chest. His skin is not warm, not really, but the comfort it brings is invaluable. “You are home, now, my little songbird. Go anywhere you wish, I will not stop you.”

The only place Seonghwa really wishes to go is _home_ where San and his mother are but they both know that’s not possible so he shrinks further into Doyoung’s arms and lets the beat of his god’s heart and the beat of the rain above them soothe the ache in his chest. 

This is home, haven, and comfort and he must get used to that reality. 

“May I stay here? In your arms?”

Doyoung’s laughs bubbles against Seonghwa’s cheek but he is not unkind. His arms tighten around Seonghwa and plush lips graze over his temple with quiet adoration. “If that is what you wish, songbird.”

Seonghwa does not know what possesses him to straighten up in Doyoung’s grasp, hands resting lightly on his broad shoulders, and press their lips together but he’s not pushed away. 

It dawns on him that this is only the second time he’s been kissed as Doyoung pulls him in tighter with one arm and gently cradles his cheek with the other. He’d kissed San only once before the younger boy took his vows, before their worlds were upturned in a moment, but Doyoung has no issue guiding his lips and kissing every doubt out of his brain.

His god’s lips taste of summer rain and lavender tea. Of violent storms and the shock of lightning and Seonghwa is desperate for more, cradling his face in both hands and offering the willing cavern of his mouth in sweet supplication. He has dedicated his voice to Doyoung ever since he started to sing and while he might love another, there has always been room in his heart for his god.

When Doyoung licks into his mouth, his hand pressing against Seonghwa’s lower back encouragingly, Seonghwa’s knees buckle and stars dance behind his eyelids. “I have you,” Doyoung whispers, his thumb stroking lightly over the sharp line of Seonghwa’s cheekbone. “Trust me, songbird…”

Seonghwa does. He trusts Doyoung with his entire soul and as he is laid back against a bed of daisies, Doyoung’s lips on his again, tongue exploring his mouth and soft mewls swallowed by his god, he knows he will be taken care of for as long as he is with him. 

Doyoung kisses Seonghwa until he is dizzy, head lolling on his shoulders, and simply holds him. They go no further, but Doyoung draws gentle designs over the bare skin of Seonghwa’s back as he lays on his chest. The cold is long gone from Seonghwa’s skin and he can barely remember how he got here and what he left on earth. 

Seonghwa lifts his chin in quiet askance and Doyoung kisses him again, cupping his cheek in hand and for a moment, the rain above their heads calms from the storm that had begun to whip up outside in their heated kisses. 

“The rain,” Seonghwa whispers between kisses, lashes low on his cheeks as Doyoung rubs circles into his cheek and lower back. He hums softly and Seonghwa presses on with a kiss to the swell of Doyoung’s bottom lip, “it mirrors your emotions?”

Doyoung gives a brief nod, laying back in the daisies and carding his hand through his hair. “It does. I’ve calmed, so the storm has calmed.” There is a certain pride to be found in bringing a god to excitement so visceral that his powers reach an uncontrollable fever pitch. “Are you pleased?” His tone is teasing and Seonghwa rests his head in the crook of his neck, eyes sliding shut.

“Perhaps a little.”

Doyoung’s warm laugh vibrates against his lips and Seonghwa presses a soft kiss to the slow beat of his pulse. “Rest, Seonghwa, we will figure things out tomorrow.” 

_Tomorrow_ , Seonghwa thinks as sleep overtakes him and generous rain falls onto the village that had so desperately needed. It feels so far away but still within reach should he hold his hand out for it. A soft kiss is pressed against the crown of his head and finally, Seonghwa settles down. 

He’s home now, after all. Everything comes secondary to that. 

Three days pass and the rains do not cease. Their fields prosper and San mourns desperately. The Lord of Storms is appeased and San tilts his face up into the rain where he kneels by Seonghwa’s grave. He sets a small bouquet of lavender and pink roses atop the freshly turned soil and lets the rain wash his tears away. He’s been alone since the funeral procession ended, even Seonghwa’s mother returning to their home to grieve in private, and he’d tear his own heart out of his chest if it meant that Seonghwa could come home. 

Thunder booms overhead and while he knows he should go back to the village before he catches a cold, something demands he stay where he is. His eyes close and a familiar voice rises around him, singing a gentle tune. He knows that Seonghwa is gone to him but his voice is _there_ , real as it strokes down his spine and ruffles his drenched hair. 

“Seonghwa?” He whispers with eyes closed tight out of fear that if he opens him, the illusion will be broken and he would be left alone again. The singing doesn’t stop and warm hands rest lightly on his shoulders. It’s a gentle touch and he melts into it.

“Come home,” an unfamiliar voice whispers and when San’s eyes snap open, Seonghwa is smiling down at him with a dark-haired man at his side. “Come with us.”

Who is San to disobey his god and his love?

**Author's Note:**

> congrats! you made it to the end!  
> you can come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/faeriedoyoung) and [curiouscat](curiouscat.me/faeriedoyoung)! i probably deserve it.


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